


Ghost from a Wishing Well

by isabeau, Miriam (isabeau)



Series: Ghosts [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Gen, Really old fic (pre-2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/Miriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow has a choice to make, and it's not an easy one.  Set post-Becoming. Mildly AU. (Okay, maybe more than minorly. "Passion" never happened. Well, most of it did, but not all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost from a Wishing Well

>   
> _"If you could read my mind, love  
>  What a tale my thoughts would tell  
> Just like an old-time movie  
> 'Bout a ghost from a wishing well  
> In a castle dark  
> Or a fortress strong  
> With chains upon my feet  
> You know that ghost is me  
> And I will never be set free  
> As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see"  
> _   
> 

 

She wasn't sure where she was.

The place-- room? it didn't feel like outside, but she couldn't see walls  
or ceiling, just a floor-- was dimly lit, and the only thing she could see  
was a small fountain, about two feet in front of her.

The water seemed to be glowing.

Willow frowned, and walked over to it. The floor was tile, but her shoes  
made no noise. As she got closer, she could see that the water wasn't  
itself glowing, that it was in fact lit from below.

When she stood next to the rim of the shallow pool the fountain splashed  
into, it became obvious that the pool was somehow a skylight-type  
structure onto a room below, and that it was the fluorescent lighting of  
the room that gave the water its glow.

There were people in the room, she thought, but the images were so blurred  
and distorted by the fountain's disruptions that she couldn't make  
anything out other than vague blobs of darkness and light. She knelt down  
and touched the surface of the water, which was silkily cool but not cold,  
and the ripples from her fingers spread across the pool to meet the  
choppiness of the fountain splash.

"Window to the world," said a voice behind her. She whirled to see a man  
stepping out of the shadows. He was dressed all in black-- boots, jeans,  
turtleneck-- and against those his face and hands looked very pale. He  
had large blue eyes, a shade of blue that was so light it was almost grey,  
and long dark hair that curled under his ears.

"What?" Willow said.

"It's a window to the world," he repeated, gesturing at the pool. "You're  
not really here, you know. Not physically."

Willow shook her head, confused. Not physically here? If she were a  
ghost again, she wouldn't have been able to touch the water. "Where am I,  
then? And where am I physically?"

"Here, and there." The man gave her a cryptic smile. She glared at him.  
"To be more precise," he said, " _here_ is the spirit world. A sort of  
limbo...a balance between life and death. That, down there," and he  
gestured again at the pool, "is life. Up there," gesturing upwards,  
though Willow couldn't see anything but hazy darkness, "is death-- well,  
afterlife, sort of-- but you can't see it because you're not dead yet.  
The fountain represents your life force. When you run out of time, it  
stops, and you die. And the water is a window; to the physical world, and  
to what's left of your life"

It made a weird sort of sense, but something in his stance made her wary.  
It was part defensiveness, part eager expectancy, and a look that reminded  
Willow of when her cousin would tell creatively intricate lies and then  
wait for people to believe them. "Why should I believe you?" she  
demanded.

He gave her an odd look, and knelt by the pool. When he touched it, the  
surface disruption stilled-- the fountain was still going, but a circle of  
water around his hand remained unbroken, and for the first time Willow  
could see clearly.

It was a room-- white tile floor, whitewashed walls, white bed, far too  
much white. A red-haired girl lay unmoving in the bed-- _That's me,_  
Willow realized with shock-- and her skin was far too translucently pale  
to be healthy. It was almost the same color as the white bandages  
sheathing her forehead.

Oz was sitting in a chair by the bedside, apparently in a restless sleep.  
As Willow watched, the door opened, and Giles stepped in, looking  
hesitant.

'Hey,' Oz said, stirring.

'Hi. Um, I-I-I was...how is she?'

'Alive. For now.' Oz took the girl's limp hand in his own, caressing it  
with his thumb. 'The doctors say there's nothing they can do now. Either  
she comes out of it, or she...doesn't.' He sounded way too tired. 'I  
don't like this.'

Giles sighed. 'Neither do I. But I don't...I don't think like has  
anything to do with this.'

'So, what do we do? I mean, you're the Watcher, right? You're, like,  
answer guy.'

'What we do,' Giles said heavily, 'is wait.'

The ripples took over again, cutting off the sound, and making Giles and  
Oz nothing more than dark blobs again. Willow stared at the water,  
wondering if this were a dream, or if she really were dying.

"It's no dream," the man said.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" he countered.

Willow tried to think. "I was...Oz, his band, had a gig at the Bronze,  
and I was there...alone, though I think I saw Xander and Cordelia  
dancing...and then I left, and I..." She shook her head. "Suddenly was  
here. _Do_ you know what happened? And for that matter, who are you?"

"Kh'ylar Itandur," he said, bowing slightly. "At your service. And what  
happened-- you were ambushed by vampires and seriously injured. The  
details aren't really important." He followed her gaze to the pool. "The  
boy found you," he said softly. "You were half-dead, and unconscious. He  
nearly went mad with grief and rage."

Willow closed her eyes, fighting tears. _Oh Oz, I'm so sorry..._ "Why  
should I believe you?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "Don't, if you want. It's the truth, though. Do you  
believe your eyes, or your heart?"

"Eyes can deceive...if it's a dream, or a hallucination..." She glared at  
him, suddenly angry. "What am I doing here, then? If I'm dead..." His  
mouth opened in protest. "Okay, not dead. Dying. Same difference. What  
am I doing here? Do I get to wait, too, until I'm dead?"

"No." He didn't flinch under her anger. "There's a way to go back."

"How?"

In answer, he handed her a sword that seemed to just appear in his hands.  
It was a little heavier than she expected, but not unwieldy; she held it  
in both hands and looked at it, confused.

"What do I do with this?"

"You kill one of _them_ ," he said, and a ring of statues appeared around  
them. Willow gaped. Giles, Oz, Buffy--

"I kill my friends in exchange for my life?" she said, and threw down the  
sword. "No thanks. I'd rather die."

Kh'ylar laughed mockingly and picked up the sword, balancing the blade on  
his hands and handing it to her. "Don't be so dense. You're not really  
killing whichever of them you choose-- I mean, sure, you've got to kill  
their statue, but it's symbolic. You're just severing your ties to them.  
You'd wake up, and it would be like you'd never known them, like you'd  
seen them only in passing at school and hadn't paid attention. No  
friendship, no loyalty, no love-- nothing."

"I can't. I'd rather--"

"Die?" he said sharply. "Give me a break. You like living, and you've  
got a good life down there. Would you give it up?" His eyes narrowed.  
"Do you know what will happen if you die? The full moon is in three days;  
your boyfriend will in his grief forget to chain himself, and will go on a  
rampage of the town before being killed, most likely by a bounty hunter.  
The British one-- he cares for you, you know, like a father, and he's come  
too close, too often, to losing people he cares about. If you die, he'll  
probably drink himself into oblivion."

"He wouldn't--" Willow started, and then stopped, remembering the empty,  
aching look that had crept into Giles' eyes the past few months.

"And your friend, the Slayer," Kh'ylar continued ruthlessly. "She'll hear  
about it, and she'll blame herself for not being there. Even as it is,  
she's throwing herself into half-suicidal situations. Add one more death  
to her list--"

Willow bit her lip and took the sword from his hands. The circle of  
statues around her seemed to be watching expectantly. She let the tip of  
the sword droop to rest on the ground.

"Just choose one," Kh'ylar said.

"But there's no one here I hate..."

"You don't hate. It's not in your personality." He took her shoulders,  
shaking her. "That's the point. They need a sacrifice; it wouldn't be  
worth anything if you gave up feelings for someone you didn't like.  
Sacrifice. You choose, they take away the feelings, and you live."

"Who's 'they'?"

Kh'ylar gestured upwards in irritation. "They. The gods? Fate? The  
powers that be? I don't know; I'm not one of them. But they control life  
and death to some extent, and they are the ones who choose a Slayer."

Willow took a breath and stepped towards the first statue, which seemed to  
melt under her gaze, to turn from cold marble into an almost-realistic  
depiction, like statues she'd seen in a wax museum once, but a little  
warmer.

She touched Oz's cheek gently, then stepped back a pace. "Not you," she  
said, and then looked at Kh'ylar. "Not him."

"Why not?" A thin smile.

"Because I love him."

He stared, and muttered something in a fluid-sounding language Willow  
didn't recognize. "Don't you get it? _They need a sacrifice_. It has to  
be someone you care for."

"But I love him, and he loves me. I can't-- I know what it's like to love  
someone who doesn't love you back. I can't do that to him." She shook  
her head and moved to the next statue; the Oz-statue became marble again,  
and the new one melted.

"Hi, Giles," she whispered, even though she knew he wouldn't hear her.  
He-- or at least the statue-- had his hands shoved into his pockets, and  
his stance was a little defensive. Willow looked into his eyes, filled  
with pain and sorrow and guilt, and kissed the top of his forehead as if  
he were a child, ignoring the tears that filled her own eyes. "Not him  
either." She stepped back, watching the statue turn to marble again, and  
looked at Kh'ylar. "He needs me for who I am, not as another student who  
doesn't really know him. He's already half-lost Ms. Calendar, and  
Buffy...he needs me. I won't do that to him."

Kh'ylar said nothing, but she could almost tangibly feel his gaze on  
her.

The next statue was Buffy, and Willow gave her a half-impulsive hug. "I  
miss you," she told the statue. "I wish you hadn't left." And then she  
stepped back again, shaking her head. "Not her."

"She ran out on you," Kh'ylar countered. "She abandoned you guys to the  
Hellmouth, and didn't even say goodbye. What kind of friend is that?"

"A hurt one." Willow met his gaze evenly. "She's been through a lot."

"So've you, but you didn't give up on her. She's gone, Willow. She  
didn't even care enough to say anything!"

"She's been through a lot," Willow repeated. "She's going to come back  
someday, and she'll need her friends...we're the only things she has."

Kh'ylar swore quietly in the same fluid language. "Idiot!" he breathed,  
took two long strides to be next to Willow, and shook her by the  
shoulders. "Are you going to use that rationale on all of them? Look, if  
you don't choose _someone_ , you'll die, and all of them will lose you.  
Choose one! You won't even remember knowing them! Sure, any of them will  
be disappointed, hurt by your choice-- but that's life. They'll live."

Willow gripped the sword tighter, but didn't answer.

The next statue was Xander, and she felt a little strange looking at him.  
His statue gazed back, expression half-goofy, half-guilty.

"Maybe," she whispered, feeling her heart constrict. He'd been so dense  
to her...best friends forever, he'd said once, but she wasn't the one to  
break that pledge.

"How many times has he broken your heart?" Kh'ylar asked her.

"He's human," Willow said, defending him only half-heartedly. "He's  
allowed to make mistakes."

"Mistakes like using you as a sounding board for his crushes? Mistakes  
like 'forgetting' to tell you about Cordelia? Mistakes like not even  
denying he's in love with her?" Willow was silent, so Kh'ylar continued:  
"Don't you think it's time to return the favour? You won't be hurt by him  
any more; you won't be betrayed. You won't remember any of the stupid  
things he's done and said. And he'll live without you. He's got  
Cordelia, remember." Kh'ylar's voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Maybe," Willow said. She fingered the sword but stepped away, moving to  
the next statue.

Even the statue of Ms. Calendar looked thin and lost and alone, and her  
arms were wrapped around herself as if keeping the cold out-- or maybe  
keeping the pain in. Willow bit her lip.

"Buffy didn't ever really forgive her," Kh'ylar said. "I don't think  
anyone did."

 _I did,_ Willow answered silently. She could remember the loneliness in  
the computer teacher's eyes as she said goodbye for the last time. _"I've  
been called back to my family,"_ she'd said, not quite looking at Giles.  
 _"To...because of Angelus. They want...they need to know what's been  
going on...and what happened with my uncle."_ She'd smiled sadly. _"I  
don't think they'll let me come back...not any time soon...they don't take  
failure lightly. But maybe that's okay, you know? 'Cause I've failed you  
guys, too...and it's harder to live with betraying people you care about,  
than people you haven't seen in years."_

"You aren't ever going to see her again," Kh'ylar pointed out. "Why does  
it matter if you remember her?"

"Someone has to."

"Buffy will. Giles will."

"Buffy will remember only the blame-- the silence about Angel-- I don't  
know that anything could have been done even if Ms. Calendar'd told us  
everything she knew, but Buffy still...and Giles..." Willow bit her lip  
again, remembering the anguish on Giles' face as he'd paced in the waiting  
room of the hospital the night Ms. Calendar had been attacked. Angelus  
had half-killed her, and left her lying in Giles' bed, thinking, no doubt,  
that she would be dead when Giles found her there. She wasn't, but it was  
close, and Giles had spent hours wondering if she'd live or die-- and then  
she'd gotten a letter from her family, and had stayed only long enough to  
supervise Willow's re-enactment of the spell-curse.

It was a little tempting to choose her, since-- as Kh'ylar said-- she  
wasn't likely to come back. But if she ever did... "I'm the only one she  
could trust...the only one who's really forgiven her." Willow stepped  
away, and turned to the last statue in the circle.

And froze with fear, even though she knew that the statue wasn't going to  
hurt her.

"That's Angel," Kh'ylar clarified, "not Angelus. It would be too easy for  
you to forget ever knowing Angelus...and you don't care for him. Angel,  
on the other hand..."

Willow looked at the statue again, trying to override her fear, trying to  
forget the snarling face of the demon that had tried to kill her so many  
times. It was hard to separate Angel from Angelus-- how did you separate  
two things that shared one face?-- but the statue had Angel's eyes, brown  
with a warmth that hid a deep shell of pain, not Angelus' cold emotionless  
gold ones.

Willow raised the sword-- and lowered it. "Angel I don't hate," she said,  
almost inaudibly. "He's not Angelus. I...I'd prefer to remember the good  
things he did, too."

Kh'ylar grabbed her arm and pulled her back so hard that the sword flew  
out of her hands. "Decide," he hissed.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I've been assigned to. And because it's not really your time  
yet, and if you die it'll screw up the balance."

"Is that it?" Willow's stubborn streak rose. "Maybe I'd rather just die,  
then, and to hell with your balances!"

"You don't have much time." Kh'ylar pulled her to the fountain, which was  
little more than a bubble at this point. He didn't even need to touch the  
water to make the scene below visible.

Willow didn't know how many hours had passed, down there, but Giles and Oz  
were still there, wearing the same clothes they'd been wearing last time.  
Oz was asleep, lying on a cot the nurses had probably brought in; Giles  
was sitting on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, head down. The  
only change to the girl lying on the bed was the stuffed animal tucked in  
the crook of one arm: Mr. Pooky, the large frog Xander had given her on  
her seventh birthday. Willow bit her lip.

And as she watched, the door opened again, admitting a dark-haired woman.  
Watching from above, Willow almost didn't recognize her. Giles, staring  
in shock, didn't have that problem.

'Jenny?' He sounded almost like he'd forgotten to breathe.

'Hi.' Ms. Calendar stepped closer to the bed, stepping around Giles so  
smoothly it might have been involuntary. 'Grandmother saw...she knew  
something was happening, and they let me go. I ought to return,  
after...but they let me come back here.'

Giles was still staring at her like he'd seen a ghost. Willow wondered  
what was running through his mind. Probably nothing coherent; he'd  
undoubtedly been there far too long, with far too little sleep.

'How is she?'

'What? Oh...oh. Not good, she's...'

'Dying. I know.' Ms. Calendar touched the girl's forehead, and sucked in  
her breath. 'I know. That's why they let me come.'

Willow uttered a very unladylike "Shit," and backed away from the  
fountain. "I'm not going to die," she whispered. "I won't..."

"Then choose."

She jumped a little, having almost forgotten about the presence of  
Kh'ylar. "I...I don't know how."

He pressed the sword into her hands. "Choose! Or you _will_ die."

She gripped the sword tightly, but continued to stare at Kh'ylar. "Who  
 _are_ you, that you know this?"

"Your only chance of surviving this."

Willow looked at the blade of the sword. Something about this whole  
situation felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out what. "I have to kill  
one of the people in the room?" she said, making sure she understood.

"Symbolically, yes. And they aren't people; they're statues. That should  
make it easier."

"And if I do, I'll live?" He nodded once. "I have your word?"

"You have whatever assurances you need," he snapped. "Choose. Time's  
running out."

"Fine." Willow lifted the sword, took a deep breath, and swung.

Kh'ylar's head rolled to a stop, staring at her in surprise, before the  
body vanished into dust.

The sword sagged. The waters of the fountain darkened and stilled.  
Willow wondered how long it would take-- and if it would hurt.

"I don't want to die," Willow murmured. "But I can't intentionally hurt  
any of them." She sat at the edge of the pool, trailing her fingers along  
the surface of the water.

And a vortex opened, spiraling out of the water. Willow wrinkled her  
forehead in puzzlement but stepped into the vortex, and found herself  
plummeting down. And down and _down_.

She was drowning, then, unable to see, unable to think, fighting to the  
surface--

'You never even wrote,' she heard Giles saying. He sounded a little  
hurt. 'I thought...'

'What was I going to say?' That was Ms. Calendar's voice. 'Sorry for  
leaving you, I'm having a miserable time here, see you in a few years if  
the clan elders decide I should be allowed out again? God, Rupert, I...I  
wanted to come back, but I just...couldn't.'

There was still a veil of something between Willow and where she knew she  
needed to go, but it was thinning, and she fought. The veil weakened and  
tore--

And pain exploded in her head and ribs and leg. Half her body felt numb.  
But, she realized, it was a body. She was alive.

She'd won.

"You came back for her," Giles said, oblivious to Willow's awakening.  
"But you couldn't spare a visit for me?"

"She's dying. You're not. And I...she wasn't the one I betrayed."

Willow opened her eyes a crack. Oz was still asleep; Ms. Calendar was  
standing with her back to Giles, looking like she was crying, and Giles  
had a very helpless expression on his face.

"Reunions are so touching," Willow murmured dryly. Her voice sounded like  
it had been run over by a Mack truck and dragged across gravel-- but it  
carried. Both adults in the room were staring at her, now, and Oz flew  
off the cot and to her side.

"Willow, baby," he whispered, taking her hand in his, stroking her cheek.  
"How're you feeling?"

"Great," she said, feeling a surge of happiness despite the pain. "Just  
great. I'm alive... which is a good thing."

"Generally, yes, being alive is good. It helps with the living thing that  
most people want to do." Oz nodded solemnly. Willow giggled at his  
expression, and then gasped as pain shot through her.

"Ow," she said succinctly, and winced. "Maybe next time I'll wear  
protective gear when I go rollerblading."

"You weren't--" Giles began, and stopped. Ms. Calendar arched an eyebrow  
at him.

"I think she was joking," she said mildly.

Oz smiled down at her. "Glad to see you've got your sense of humor. And  
I'm glad you..." He stopped, but she could read the rest of the sentence  
in his expression. _I'm glad you didn't die. I'm glad you came back._

"I couldn't leave you," she whispered. "I love you too much...'swhy I  
couldn't kill you."

It didn't look like he understood. Willow thought a little, and realized  
she didn't understand either. She could remember something about a dark  
room, and a fountain, and having to kill... someone?... but the details  
were fading. Maybe she'd remember later. It didn't seem terribly  
important though.

"I'll tell a doctor," Ms Calendar said, giving Willow a small smile.  
Willow wondered tiredly if she'd smiled once since leaving them.

"Wait." Willow struggled to sit up, then gave up when it became too  
painful. "Ms. Calendar?"

The woman hesitated, then turned. "Yes, Willow?"

"I'm...glad you're back."

Ms. Calendar glanced at Giles, who was carefully keeping his eyes on  
Willow, and nodded. "I'm glad too. It's nice to be..." She hesitated.  
"Home." And then she was gone, but Willow could hear her calling for a  
doctor.

Willow looked at Giles. _Take care of her,_ she wanted to say, and  
 _Thanks for being here,_ even though it seemed to be too much effort to  
talk right now. Everything was too much effort; she just wanted to  
sleep.

Oz kissed her forehead. "Welcome home, baby," he said.

[end]  



End file.
